


The Wheel Turns

by BloodyMary



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:36:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMary/pseuds/BloodyMary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The progression of a Space Marine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wheel Turns

Only the best of the best became Ultramarines. The fittest, the strongest, the smartest. Titus knew he was one of them or he wouldn't have come so far. Test, after test, after test, he withstood them all. He ran for miles, he swam and jumped, pouring gallons of sweat and blood, proving his worth with every drop and every mile. And yet, he was not even near the goal placed before him. Still, he wore the robes of a novitiate, not even deemed ready to become a Scout.   
  
He knew that years would still pass before he was ready and that he wouldn't be the first to join the ranks of the Ultramarines. As much as it galled him to admit it, there were those better than him amongst the other novitiates. When he ran, he knew that it would be Tulius' back he'd gaze at, as the novitiate took the lead. When he wrestled, he knew that Arminius would be the one to overpower him. The realizations stung, because he knew that they would be first to become Ultramarines. As childish as the notion was, he felt cheated in the darkest, deepest part of his heart. Was it not his right to march for Macragge?  
  
He tried to fight those feelings, whenever he grew conscious of them. They were something he should not feel. He should not begrudge the success of others, he should take solace in them, knowing that they would protect the Imperium.  
  
A Space Marine was not just meant to be a powerful thug, but a being worthy of the power bestowed upon him by the Emperor. Petty pride had no place in his heart.  
  
***  
  
Clad in blue armor, Titus was a much more impressive sight than just a day before, when he had still worn the carapace of a Scout. Somehow, he looked noble now, even though his face was still broad, with a nose that was more of a lump thanks to having been broken countless times.   
  
To tell the truth, it felt as if he was playing pretend. He barely remembered his parents, and yet, he couldn't shake of the feeling that his mother was just behind the door. She would enter and tell him lunch was ready, and he wouldn't a Space Marine anymore, but a little boy hoping he'd manage to steal some cookies from the jar when nobody was looking.  
  
What an odd thing a human mind was… He chased the thoughts away, only to catch another oddity in his own though-process to marvel at.   
  
He hadn't stopped thinking of himself as human. Despite the wondrous new organs, despite his size, strength, enhanced senses, he felt the same as he had months and years ago. It felt odd. He had expected that putting on power armor for the first time would make him feel different, a hero, a giant. With those doubts came others: was he truly ready? Perhaps he was still to immature, in need of training, in need of guidance?  
  
Like a rodent in treadmill, his mind reeled and jumped from one question to another. Was it his place to question his betters? The Captain? His Sergeant? They thought him ready to become of a Space Marine. Perhaps it was natural? Perhaps each and every Battle Brother had felt the same: unworthy, too young, a boy pretending to be something more? He did not know.   
  
His first instinct told him to go to Sergeant Phaeton and ask him, but he chose not to follow it. He was not a Scout anymore—he should not continue relying on his old NCO to provide him the answers for his questions. Instead, he should walk his own path.  
  
And so he remained where he was, a silent blue statue, meditating on his own nature.   
  
***  
  
Awakening brought pain. A fierce headache building up behind his eyes and odd pangs here and there. It felt as if somebody were constantly stabbing his stomach and slashing at his chest. Slowly, the sensations would subside.  
  
Awakening brought a chill with it and emptiness. Sometimes, he'd try to reach out with his hands, to touch his face or the face of the brother before him, but it was only phantoms of a previous life. He had no hands to reach out with anymore.   
  
He hated being awakened now.  
  
"You're adjusting remarkably well," Brother Brutus said.   
  
"I am glad," Titus replied. He wanted to shudder and perhaps the withered husk his body had become did, but the casket in which he was entombed remained still. The thought that this was "well" made him wonder just how bad "unwell" would be.  
  
He wondered if the others felt so… isolated. Touch seemed just a little thing and yet, now that he knew he'd never feel the warmth of flesh against his hands or the touch of fabric on his skin, he found he missed them both. All he'd feel, see and hear would be transmitted through the machine.   
  
***  
  
Brutus knelt silently next to the wrecked Dreadnaught. Amitotic fluid still dripped through the many rifts and cracks, mingled with blood. Something withered and white could be glimpsed, and a milky dead eye stared back at the Techmarine.   
  
The dreadnaught had slumped against its final foe: a giant Tyranid warrior form, its power fist still embedded deep into the flesh of the beast. Lesser Tyranid bio-forms surrounded the dead Ultramarine and his foe. Titus death had been a long one, with each suicidal attack by the xenos compounding to the final failure of the life support.   
  
Titus would no longer serve the Chapter, but just armour passed from one Space Marine to another so could the sarcophagus carry another hero yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for the RiaR competition on the Black Library Bolthole.


End file.
